


these years have gone

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars (Marvel Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Femslash, Kissing, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7184975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Come on, Evaan. You’re more collected than this. You’re a princess of Alderaan. You’re a pilot. You once told Leia Organa to her face that you didn’t like her very much. You have no reason to—to…</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Blush.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Certainly not that.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	these years have gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> [written as a treat for the Every Woman 2016 exchange]

Evaan’s robes hang heavy across her shoulders, oppressive under the sudden, late afternoon heat of New Alderaan’s sun. They’d all expected overcast skies, a stark wind, the threat of rain; the outfit had been chosen with those things in mind. If she had known the weather would decide to grace them all with sunshine, she would have worn something a little more relaxed. Something less befitting a princess who must be above such things as a desire for comfort and breathability. Rather, she would have tried to. There is, in her mind, only one princess on her world today and that princess is not she. Therefore, she needn’t put on quite so many airs.

But try telling that to her advisers. _No, Princess Evaan_ , they had said. _Ceremonial robes today, Princess Evaan. You want to impress Commander Organa, do you not, Princess Evaan?_

 _I_ might _want to do just that_ , she thinks, fighting the urge to squirm. But she suspects a fancy outfit isn’t the way to do it. Not least when one must also contend with such muggy, clinging surroundings. The thick, braided coils of her hair wilt more and more by the minute and sweat prickles at her temples and beneath her arms. That, she’s reasonably sure, isn’t even the slightest bit impressive. The irritable scowl she can’t quite lock behind a smile? Definitely not impressive.

Especially not to Vizier Pareece—who watches Evaan with a keen eye and a displeased frown that slowly, slowly morphs into an almost genuine smile. Then, in a flash, it is once more a frown. _Message received_. The smile that had been so difficult to muster finds its way to her lips, a brittle thing pasted across her mouth. It’s her practiced, princess smile and it makes her cheek hurts and she hates it.

No wonder Leia had wanted to join the Rebellion. As fulfilling as leading her people can be, there are days where it just doesn’t seem worth it.

 _That’s not fair_. Leia deserves this—a street lined with people, dancers and musicians and painters capturing the motion and joy of the day with quick, arcing strokes projected above the crowd’s collective heads—and Evaan can’t blame anyone for being excited to see her. Just because Evaan would rather…

But Leia and the Rebellion have just destroyed the Empire. And the first place she had wanted to visit was New Alderaan. Of course, they’re excited. Evaan is, too. Her excitement is just tempered by the tangle of nerves wrapped tight around her lungs. The way they constrict her makes it almost as hard to breathe as the robes do. Years, too, of lessons in decorum and diplomacy and distancing tactics meant to turn her from a pilot into a politician have taught her restraint. Most days, she can’t afford to scream and shout and show passion.

(She maybe, _maybe_ feels a little guilty she’d sat the fight out. And that’s something she doesn’t ever intend to tell anyone. Not even Leia. That might be a factor here. One she won’t consider too closely, but makes it easier to refrain from crying out with joy knowing Leia is here. For the first time in years, they’ll be seeing one another again. It takes everything in her not to let tears get the better of her.)

Her gaze flicks toward the others standing on the hastily constructed dais alongside her, Pareece in addition to Beon and even severe, staid Jora. Compared to her, they all seem to be handling the heat with dignified aplomb, standing with straight spines and clear interest in their eyes as they survey the thick throng of people.

“Will she be arriving soon?” Evaan asks, leaning toward Pareece. She remembers, belatedly, to keep the smile. Even though it forces her to speak through clenched teeth.

“Five minutes approximately, Your Highness.” She glances down at her hand, turning it surreptitiously to look at the tiny datapad held discreetly in her palm. “Yes, five minutes.”

 _Five minutes? That long?_ Sighing, she rolls her shoulders. There isn’t much grace in her acceptance of the situation, but she will endure it; she has no other option. Even if she wanted to run, she wants to see Leia more. And to see Leia…

She’s just got a small settlement’s equivalent of a victory parade to stand through.

Compared to a lot of things she’s had to do, this one is… somewhat easy.

Easier still once she sees the landspeeder floating serenely down the street toward her.

And easiest of all when Leia is close enough that Evaan can see the brightness of her teeth contrasted against the inviting pink of her lips. Now so close, Leia lifts her hand and waves. Needless to say, that gesture more than makes up for the time spent waiting for her arrival.

In fact, it makes the wait feel like nothing at all.

*

The citizens of New Alderaan cheer for the speech Evaan gives—not that she can remember even a word of it by the time the event is over. They ring bells the entire time and flick bright streamers of blue and silver and white through the air. Each one of which had caught the light and her eye, a monumental distraction as she’d read from the holoprompter floating before her. It’s the easiest excuse. Better than admitting the truth that it had been something else entirely distracting her. When Leia speaks, it’s the same.

Afterwards, Leia somehow wraps her arm around Evaan’s shoulder and yanks her down, laughing directly into her ear. A cam droid flashes in her face, nearly blinding her, and that just seems to make Leia laugh even more.

“Look what you’ve done,” Leia says, her lips brushing Evaan’s cheek. “It’s wonderful.”

Evaan doesn’t, _doesn’t_ shiver at the contact, her skin doesn’t tighten and prickle. It’s undignified for one thing. And it’s too hot out here for another. Leia’s proximity is not affecting her in the slightest.

The flush that might bloom across her face and the moisture that might slick her palms? At least she can write those off as a reasonable reaction to the weather.

She refuses to consider that fleeting touch the wonderful thing that Leia refers to.

After an appropriate length of time, Pareece herds both Evaan and Leia off the dais and into a waiting shuttle. The raucous shouts of the crowd echo in Evaan’s ears and bounce off the hull of the sleek gray transport, long, elegant lines etched across the length of it to enhance its already considerable beauty.

The chilly interior shocks Evaan like the pouring of cold water over a burn. While Evaan adjusts to the temperature, Pareece takes the opportunity to bow forward, her head bobbing in Leia’s direction, her hands folded delicately in front of her. The thin, layered fabric of her headscarf sways, multihued, as she straightens. “It’s good to see you, ma’am.”

Evaan reaches for the collar of her robe, fingers curling around the button hidden inside. But too late. Pareece turns, notices, and shakes her head.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Uwa,” Leia answers, her eyes meeting Evaan’s over the back of Pareece’s head. She smiles, eyes widening and eyebrows jerking upward in amused understanding. _You look good,_ she mouths, motioning toward her own neck.

This is—that is to say…

Evaan drops her hand as though she’d caught it on a live wire, tightens it into a fist within the folds of the robes she’s so desperate to shed. Princesses don’t pout at getting caught out. They don’t get embarrassed. And neither, she decides, does she.

_Come on, Evaan. You’re more collected than this. You’re a princess of Alderaan. You’re a pilot. You once told Leia Organa to her face that you didn’t like her very much. You have no reason to—to…_

_Blush._

_Certainly not that_.

*

“The reception will begin in approximately an hour,” Pareece says, leading Leia toward her guest quarters. By personal design, Evaan trails behind them, a difficult proposition considering the length of her stride, but one she has learned to manage well enough. Nobody likes to be outpaced. In the early days, she had done a lot of that. “Your protocol droid has already prepared your formal attire for the evening, I believe.”

“Yes,” Leia answers, warm and crackling with amusement. “He would have.” Leia turns toward Evaan and, grinning anew, invites Evaan to share in her good humor. And the thing of it is, she can and it requires no effort on her part. The smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth does so of its own volition. And that only seems to make Leia _happier_. Evaan’s not sure how she can tell that exactly. Her smile doesn’t grow; her eyes don’t brighten. She doesn’t even laugh to suggest it. And yet…

“He is quite something else,” Pareece says, heartfelt, as she stops. “And here we are.” Practiced, easy, she keys in a one-time use code to open the door and beckons them both forward as it slides open. “I’ll have a tray with refreshments sent up momentarily. If your protocol droid wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate it if he inspected our arrangements…”

“I’ll send him along, of course,” Leia says quickly, stepping inside. “Though I’m certain you’ve handled everything to perfection already.”

“All the same,” Pareece replies, inclining her head. To which Leia nods and gestures for the droid in question.

“Welcome back, Prin—” the droid, gold and shining, says, stepping forward. He inclines his upper body toward Evaan—too late to fully correct his initial, understandable slip. “Princess Evaan. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am See—”

“Threepio,” Leia says, barest tinged of a ‘been there, done that’ dryness to her voice. “Vizier Pareece would like you to consult with her on the preparations for tonight’s event. I was hoping you would be willing to help out.”

“Oh!” His body whirs as he straightens, ocular sensors flickering. Just a little. The droid version of sparkling perhaps. “Splendid. Vizier, I would be more than happy to assist you…” He toddles toward all three of them and Evaan steps aside to let him pass. Almost as though neither she nor Leia exist any longer, the droid and Pareece excuse themselves. For a moment, Evaan is more amused than she remembers being in a long, long time. And then she realizes she’s alone with Leia and that amusement might just turn to nervousness.

Clearing her throat, she brushes at her robes.

Leia turns once, stretching onto her toes, fingers lacing behind her neck. While her back is turn, Evaan inspects her from the elaborately braided top of her head to the bottom of her fine, brown leather boots. Between, she wears the clothing of a soldier, a _fighter_. Tan pants fitted tight to her curves, a holster around her waist. A fitted black shirt and a vest that could conceivably carry a good deal of ammunition and spare cartridges. She is most definitely Commander Organa. There is no question about it.

Leia ends her inspection of the room with a sigh and returns her gaze to Evaan’s face. “Incredible,” she says. “It’s just like home.” It’s been so long since Evaan’s paid any attention to her surroundings, but she does so now. Takes in the smooth, waving lines of the table, the eggshell paleness of the walls and carpet, the splash of crystalline blue in the paintings and vases that dot the room. She blinks a couple of times and begins to speak again. “It’s too bad—”

“Leia.” Evaan knows exactly what Leia’s going through; she and everyone here had gone through it themselves at some point or another. Sometimes it was because of a piece of fabric, a particular color, or style of dance, or a song. A painting is what got to Evaan, one of the paintings in _this_ room in fact. She still can’t look at it without that familiar itch returning to her throat.

“My father and mother would have…” she says, wavering. But her smile is steady as she draws in a breath. “They would be pleased with this. What you’ve done.”

Leia has always been better with words, with emotions, than Evaan is. Whether through training or natural aptitude, Evaan couldn’t say. Regardless, a wave of bittersweet affection threatens to overwhelm Evaan and she doesn’t have the words to express it. There is nothing she can offer in return to make up for the enormity of what has happened. Nothing that could do Leia’s admission justice.

“Everyone had a part,” she says instead, remembering the name of every individual who helped built, paint, carve, and etch this place into something like _home_. Evaan had very little to do with it in point of fact. Daring to take a step toward Leia, she licks her lips, her throat drying. “We wouldn’t be here without you.”

“No,” Leia says, thoughtful and prickling with ice. None of the coldness is directed toward Evaan, but it unsettles her anyway. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

“You might try being fairer to yourself.” Evaan answers Leia’s chill with heat, angered that Leia would take the Empire’s responsibilities upon her own shoulders, even if only in passing remarks.

Leia’s answer, a soft, sad smile, only makes Evaan feel worse, a misguided sense of guilt slithering through her. How had the atmosphere changed so quickly? _And what can I do to fix it?_ But Evaan needs a plan and the time to think one out. She doesn’t have Leia’s intuition, her quickness of mind nor her affinity for trouble. Leia’s a lothcat, while Evaan… Evaan is more deliberate.

It makes improvising difficult.

“Oh, Evaan,” Leia says, scrubbing her palm over her eyes, solving Evaan’s problem for her. Her mouth twists, self-admonishing. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing—” Leia’s eyes pin her in place, a dubious light in them that stops Evaan in her tracks. Despite Evaan believing it to be the truth— _you have nothing to be sorry for_ —she can’t say it. The galaxy is more complicated than such trite expressions. Even could she, Leia probably wouldn’t believe her. Tipping her chin up, Evaan continues anyway, determined. “We all have things we’re sorry about.”

That, at least, is true. And Leia tilts her head in acknowledgment of the fact.

Good. Evaan’s not sure how well an argument about _that_ would go. And she certainly doesn’t want to think about all the things she regrets. Things that aren’t quite so easy to ignore now that Leia is here.

“We should…” Wincing, Leia stares up at the ceiling. Perhaps she feels the same. Would rather change the subject, too. “It’s almost time for dinner.”

“You mean I get to clean up and change out of this thing?” Evaan asks, dry, hoping—hoping for the laugh that Leia gifts her with.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Leia replies. “You’ll end up in something even more elaborate, I’m sure.” Mock thoughtful, she frowns. Her gaze slants in Evaan’s direction, mischievous, as though sharing a joke. “Unfortunately you won’t be the only one.”

Evaan grins, scrabbling for the sense of normalcy Leia’s holding out for her. You don’t spend three years working as the head of state for an entire people and not learn something about _otha_ branches disguised as other things. “That doesn’t seem so unfortunate to me.”

Leia rolls her eyes, but Evaan also notices a tinge of pink spanning the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks before she has the chance to turn away. For that reason alone it might be worth wearing whatever uncomfortable contraption Pareece has devised for her. “Go get dressed, Evaan.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she says, lifting her hand in acknowledgment of the order, wry. Anyone else would have thought twice before telling Evaan what to do and they would certainly couch it in gentler terms if they did.

Leia doesn’t even notice it happening and Evaan wouldn’t have it any other way.

If there’s one comfort to be had in the galaxy, it has to be found in Leia’s unassailable belief in her own authority.

*

Leia wears a sleek, dove gray dress cinched tight around her waist, floating through dinner and the reception that follows with more ease and grace than Evaan will ever possess. Not a single wrinkle mars the line of the shimmersilk fabric and the hem falls perfectly, skimming the floor without pooling on it. Before, Evaan wouldn’t have known there’s likely a whole array of supporting undergarments to ensure the smooth silhouette. It would have looked effortless—and for good reason—Leia _wants_ to look effortless. It still looks effortless admittedly. Evaan just knows better now. And can admire her in a whole new way for it.

And she knows why Leia would put so much effort into her appearance despite Evaan knowing she’d rather wear anything else.

A droid rolls past, its arm ending in a tray that holds numerous flutes of sparkling liquid. It turns in a wide, elegant arc on its single wheel, and bends slightly in Evaan’s direction. “More champagne, Princess?”

“No,” she says, kneejerk, her eyes focused on Leia, who is now commanding the attention of the men and women who usually hang on _her_ every word. As grateful as Evaan is for the reprieve—indeed, few have bothered her at all throughout the evening, preferring their heroine’s company—she also… “Wait.”

The droid hadn’t moved, perhaps intuiting Evaan’s change of heart. Its tray glides closer to her, the arm holding it extending fully. She plucks two glasses from the tray and nods. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.”

Evaan picks her way across the floor, her heels clicking too loud for comfort against it. The blond wood, waxed and shined, gleams under the light and Evaan worries, perhaps pointlessly, about falling upon it while carrying two drinks. Unable to pick up the train of her dress as a result, which is, quite frankly, excessive by any reasonable standard, it’s a very real possibility.

Leia notices her arrival first, a relieved smile flitting across her face, there and gone, for nobody but Evaan herself. It remains unnoticed by all around her.

“My apologies for the interruption,” Evaan says, adopting her most unassailably regal tone. The ring of individuals arrayed around Leia all immediately transfer their attention to her. “I was hoping I might steal—” She almost calls Leia by her given name and scrambles to think of the correct alternative. “—a few moments of Commander Organa’s time.” The title sounds so strange to Evaan’s ear, but she doesn’t stumble over the recitation.

The crowd murmurs their assent, only a few suggesting even a hint of disappointment at losing their audience with their liberator. Evaan holds out the flute of champagne and, once accepted, offers her arm, which Leia takes immediately. Her hand brushes the inside of Evaan’s forearm, forcing Evaan to suppress as best she can the resulting flutter of anticipation inside of her.

She has, quite probably, failed.

“Thank you,” Leia says, leaning close, tilting her head up. Evaan looks down in enough time to catch the sardonic tilt her smile takes on. “My hero.”

Flushing, Evaan stills, breaking the smooth stride they’d adopted without her noticing. She can’t speak for Leia, but Leia stops easily enough, rounding on Evaan and staring up at her. Likely, she _had_ noticed. It’s only then that Evaan cares to see they’ve neared the edge of the ballroom floor. Nobody seems to be looking at them, but everyone is somehow paying attention anyway. The weight of that attention prickles against the back of her neck, a sick sense that people are talking and she’s the topic of conversation. Suspicious hushes are nothing new to her, but she’ll never get used to them so long as she lives, she believes.

“Don’t worry about them,” Leia says, placing her hand on Evaan’s forearm. Evaan doesn’t ask how she knows what Evaan is thinking, but she’s grateful for the acknowledgment anyway, the implied permission. If Leia can ignore them, so can Evaan.

For the moment anyway.

“I missed you,” Evaan admits, the words tumbling from her mouth, heedless of propriety. Her heart thumps at double speed, punching against her breastbone. She feels as though everyone in the room had heard her and has tallied this information, filing it away for future use.

“I did, too. I—” She looks around the room, searching faces and frowning. Forcing a smile, she leans forward and rolls her eyes, clasps Evaan on the arm. “I’ll tell you later. Find me after the reception.”

Her words, incidentally, do nothing to assuage the hard beat of Evaan’s heart in her chest.

*

Evaan finds Leia after the reception.

Just as Leia asks.

It might be the hardest thing she’s ever done just for herself.

*

“Would you like a drink?” Leia asks, gesturing lazily at the cart standing in the corner, its surface cluttered with crystal. Blue and milky white and pink liquors fill the decanters, the colors refracting playfully off the various artistic cuts made in the containers. A variety of glasses are lined up in front, organized left to right, large to small.

“No,” Evaan says, every inch of her self-conscious. A drink wouldn’t help.

Leia sighs, a little hitch in her breath as she tilts her chin up. She looks Evaan directly in the face. “I learned something while I was out there with the Rebellion,” she starts, fierce. “Everyone wants to come back. And not everyone does. The whole time—”

She sighs again, but can’t get the words out, whatever they are. Evaan steps toward her, uncertain. If there’s something _Leia_ can’t say, what hope is there? “Leia?”

“I wanted to come back to you. _For_ you. Always.”

Evaan is used to taking action, making decisions, but a fog descends upon her, narrowing her thoughts down to the words Leia says and nothing more. Leia wanted to come back for her. And she has. She’s here now. And she—

“This wasn’t just a diplomatic visit?” Evaan asks, struck, her chest constricting with emotion. It sounds… trite when she says the words out loud. Silly. _This wasn’t just a diplomatic visit_. A look crosses Leia’s face, amused, distracted, and surprised all at once.

“No. No, I’d much rather…” She closes the distance Evaan had started to bridge. She lifts her hand to Evaan’s cheek, her touch a light graze across Evaan’s skin. Evaan would lean into that touch if she wasn’t afraid she’d shatter into pieces if she were to move. “May I?”

Evaan nods, a little dazed. She hasn’t seen Leia since—but it’s like they’ve never been apart, the years nothing at all in the grand scheme of things. Leia could do anything she wanted in this moment and Evaan—Evaan would be happy.

Leia pulls her forward, hand warm and firm as it slides to the back of Evaan’s neck, her nails scraping delicately across the base of Evaan’s skull, loosening the tight hold of the ornament clasped to her chignon, her favored style—if only because she can succeed in accomplishing it without the support of her staff. Stretching, Leia presses her lips to Evaan’s, soft and demanding all at once.

The action puts an immediate end to any thought Evaan might have about hairstyles.

Evaan grips at Leia’s shoulders, her fingers catching in the neckline of her dress. The silken material gives little as Evaan’s hands fist up. Two thoughts flicker to the fore, at least until Leia decides to press her advantage, biting lightly at Evaan’s lower lip.

_Leia is kissing me._

And _oh, gods, she’s_ kissing _me_.

She is, in fact, kissing Evaan in just the way Evaan would have imagined her doing it if she’d let herself think about it. A little pushy, but sweet, too. So sweet that Evaan aches with it, all the longing she hadn’t let herself feel while Leia was with the Rebellion washing over her all at once. She can hardly breathe with it, the want that settles like a stone in her chest, an implacable thing, difficult to move.

Leia breaks the kiss. “What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned, her hand leaving its place on Evaan’s neck, drifting down her arm to clasp her around the wrist.

Evaan remembers what Leia had been like when they’d first met, quick to anger and quick, equally, to delight. That Leia had pounced on Evaan’s back and gripped her tight, gleeful. This Leia might do the same, but she seems different regardless in ways Evaan cannot articulate. And Evaan wishes for things she cannot have as a result. But she’s still Leia, of course, though war has tempered her, altered her qualities to be just that little bit harder. “Nothing,” Evaan says, brushing a few stray hairs from Leia’s forehead. Why she’s feeling these things only now that Leia is here, Evaan can’t say. But annoyance flutters in her stomach for having destroyed the moment so thoroughly. She smiles, hoping it reassures Leia if not herself, and adds, “Nothing. I’m glad you’re here.”

Leia’s head ducks, the perfect opportunity for Evaan to insist with the brush of her fingertips that Leia shouldn’t look away. Not when Evaan doesn’t know how long she’ll have with Leia and can’t bring herself to ask. The first time around, Evaan had wasted the chance, spending more of her time antagonizing Leia than understanding her, pushing when she might have pulled her close.

 _I’ve been a fool,_ she thinks. _All this time, I could’ve…_

But she’d stayed with her people. Had done what she’d had to do to see them safe. Became their protector. There is honor in doing what you must. And Leia, Leia would never begrudge her that decision.

Leia will always do the same. No matter what. No matter how little or how much Evaan wants her to spend her days with Evaan instead.

“I’m glad, too,” Leia replies, something like understanding twisting her voice with melancholia. Her eyes search Evaan’s face for something—and seem not to find it. The war is over, but they remain caught by their opposing roles, the leader and the war hero, the one who stays and the one who cannot. Leia swallows, sighs wistfully, nods with dawned understanding—understanding of what, Evaan has no idea. Then she speaks and Evaan understands all too well. “Mon Mothma has asked me to campaign for a Senate seat.”

In other words, Leia has as good as gotten a Senate seat already.

And there’s no way the center of government will find its way to New Alderaan. It is not any of the great centers of power still standing. Their hyperspace lanes remain poorly plotted and mapped. Though New Alderaan grows in strength and influence by the day, trade is sluggish. The economy survives by the goodwill of others. Leia will leave. Again.

And Evaan must let her.

The conversation pauses, balanced on a precipice Evaan hasn’t got the room to navigate.

“I’d like to campaign for this sector’s seat,” Leia says finally. Her lips purse thoughtfully. Then, a quirk of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Representing New Alderaan would be…”

 _It’s what you were raised to do._ But Evaan doesn’t let herself hope. “You’d have to—”

“Settle here,” she says. “Yes.”

“You want to stay?”

“Assuming I win a seat, I’d have to spend a lot of time on Chandrila. But, yes. I do.” She laughs, light, a little self-deprecating. “I was planning on talking to you about it before…”

Instead of finishing the thought, she twists her hand through the air.

“…before you kissed me,” Evaan offers, a not so gentle reminder to herself that that’s exactly what had happened. It still doesn’t feel quite real, but the words are not a lie. The full-body flush of heat is not a lie. The way her lips... that is not a lie.

“Before that, yes.” Leia shakes her head. “I should have told you. I’m sorry if I… it wasn’t my plan to—well, I wouldn’t have done this—” That gesture again, staged in the space between them. “—if I intended to leave again permanently.”

Dizzy with relief, Evaan throws her arms around Leia’s shoulders, pulls her close, and kisses the top of her head, inhales deeply as she realizes it hasn’t all been in vain, that they can be together. Evaan can have this. They can have this.

“Kiss me again,” Evaan says, giddy and breathless, that one demand cutting its way through so many other thoughts. _I can’t believe it_ and _you really…?_ and _this is more than I thought possible_ and _you’re impossible_.

 _You’re wonderful_.

“Princess,” Leia says. “I would do nothing else if I could get away with it.”

And she does, every moment of it a promise, a hint of the future that they might forge together, one that Evaan doesn’t ever want to end. If she can help it, she doesn’t intend to let it. And she thinks Leia might just feel the same way, too. Whatever they might face, they’ll face it together.

Leia’s arms wrap around her waist, settle on her lower back. She sighs against Evaan’s neck and nods, comforting.

“That’s a very pretty lie,” she teases. Nose pressed against Leia’s temple, her breath harsh, Evaan says, far more truthfully, “Thank you for coming home.”


End file.
